Another Bad Idea
by The Bitch Who Died
Summary: It's been 139 days, 6 hours, & 19 minutes since she ran. And December still haunts her. /or/ If half the damn world is messed up, it's because the whole world was made off of bad ideas. sequel to Messed Up (you voted for it, again) \One-shot/ [thundercest] [minor billy/nora] & [max/phoebe] R


"I'd go back to December, turn around & make it all right / I go back to December all the time."

* * *

She wishes anything other than _those words _would ring in her head. Wishes she would recall anything other than _those lips_ pressed against hers. But there are no wishing stars out tonight & anyways, she's not 7 (10 years past it, actually), she shouldn't believe in them anymore.

Yet she'd like to. She like to not remember the butterflies in her stomach, the tingles coursing down to her toes, the rush of electricity at her lips, the wrong, wrong, _wrong_ joy of it every time their eyes meet during dinner.

She reminds herself that half the damn world can be as messed up as it wants, it's still not as messed up as _this._

But she wishes she hadn't run out, far, far away from _those words_ & _those lips_ because she remembered how messed up it is.

She also wishes her nails would stop scraping at her forearm every time she thinks about it.

* * *

"And maybe this thing was a masterpiece before you tore it all up / Running scared, I was there, I remember it all too well."

* * *

"What do you think is wrong with them?" she asks.

"Something's wrong with them?" he responds, wide eyed.

"How did you not notice? She's been avoiding him & he's always trying to catch her eye at dinner!"

"So?"

"So usually _he_ avoids her & they're fighting at dinner!"

"Oh . . ."

"Grow a brain, Billy."

"Why? You've got enough for us both, Nora."

"You're lucky you're cute," she groans.

"Cute enough to kiss?"

"Barely."

Phoebe cringes from the kitchen. Not her baby siblings too . . .

* * *

"Hold on, baby, you're losing it / The water's high, you're jumping into it."

* * *

"I know what you've been doing." She's surprised he can talk to her, let alone confront her.

"And what exactly is that?" Her voice comes out thinner than she intends.

He grabs her arm & rolls back the sleeve. "That."

". . ." Her sullen eyes find the floor. "You do too," she whispers.

"How do you know?" He asks quietly.

". . ." She says nothing.

"I said: how do you know?" He yells this time, he's still mad about her running away from her feelings.

"You don't exactly hide it well; long sleeves, anti social, paleness, quiet!" She lists, angry at him for being a hypocrite. Angry at him for pranking her. Angry at him for ignoring her. Angry at him for avoiding her. Angry at him for making her feel all these horrible things she doesn't want to.

"If you noticed maybe you should've done something! Huh? Aren't you supposed to be the perfect superhero, Phoebe? Aren't you supposed to help people? Aren't you supposed to be kind & caring & good?" He's screaming. He's screaming & they both realize what he's left out of his rant.

_(Aren't you supposed to be the girl I fell in love with?)_

"Maybe you shouldn't have pushed me away every time I tried! Don't you think I tried, Max? Don't you? I tried & I tried & I tried but you - " her fist smacks into his chest " - kept - " and again " - pushing - " and again " - me - " and again " - away!"

He pulls her into a hug as she thrashes & tries with all her might to hurt him like he's hurting her.

She struggles, she doesn't want this - she _can't_ want this. But she does. So she melts into his hold.

"This is a bad idea," she mumbles into his shirt. But she still looks up at him, into those big brown eyes that just kill her, & goes to her toes. Almost, just another inch & -

"Billy!" Nora screams.

Phoebe runs.

"You can't keep running from it!" He screams after her retreating form. This is killing them.

* * *

"It's too late to apologize / It's too late / I said it's too late to apologize."

* * *

She finally snaps in the shower.

Her MePod is on shuffle & _that song_ comes on. It's the chorus that breaks her. Like. A. Twig.

"But half the damn world is messed up," she whispers. Her voice is broken, scratched, & feeble. And so are her legs, so she sinks to the bottom. She pulls her knees to her bare chest & nuzzles her head.

She isn't sure if those are tears or just shower water running down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry."

Broken.

* * *

"'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel / Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain so - "

* * *

"Cherry, I need your help," she says suddenly at lunch. She doesn't care that Cherry is probably the worst person to go to about _this._

"What with, Pheebs?" She asks.

"There's this guy - " Cherry oohs " - I . . . I l - love - " her voice cracks a little " - him but I screwed up &, I think it might be too late to apologize . . ." This hurts her, this eats away at her to say. And where is that _damn_ motor mouth of hers when she needs it?

"You _love _him? Well, if you really love him, Pheebs, apologize. It shouldn't matter how late it is, you need to. And then _I_ need to meet him." Cherry's a lot wiser than Phoebe would've thought.

"You have," Phoebe whispers.

"I have? Well, is he cute?" She asks.

"He's perfect."

* * *

"Long handwritten note, deep in your pocket / Words, how little they mean, when they're a little too late."

* * *

She runs through lines & mixes blurs of words.

She stumbles through each syllable & nothing is right. Nothing is worthy of the apology she owes. Jumbles of all the wrong words together in all the wrong ways pour out of her mouth as she stares into red-rimmed eyes in the mirror. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

It won't flow or sound sincere. She's tried the 2 words but they don't fit or capture the 3 little words she wants to say. A mix of fragments from different apologies that sound terrible together is all that ever comes out so she shuts up & cries.

And cries.

And cries.

And cries.

Because she is alive. And because she is hurting.

* * *

"These days, I haven't been sleeping / Staying up, playing back myself leaving."

* * *

"I love you," she whispers.

But she's alone in her room.

"I love you," she whispers again.

But it's too late.

"I love you," she whispers, praying it will mean something.

But it was only a mistake.

"I love you," she whispers to no one.

But it's heavy in the air, suffocating her.

"I love you."

* * *

"But I have to / Breathe without you / I'm sorry."

* * *

She's almost got the words right now.

The lines run by all at once but are embedded in perfect order. The words aren't there yet though. They don't convey everything she needs to say.

She realizes that they probably never will & remembers that actions speak louder than words.

They certainly did when his lips were at hers.

And it clicks.

* * *

"So this is me swallowing my pride / Saying I'm sorry for that night / And I go back to December all the time."

* * *

"I thought this was a bad idea," he snorts when her lips leave his. She's hurt him. She's really hurt him.

"The whole word was built off of bad ideas," she murmurs.

"It's too late to apologize," he whispers, looking anywhere but her eyes.

"I know." He pretends her voice doesn't crack.

And, in turn, she pretends her heart doesn't either.

* * *

"'Cause he's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar / The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star."

* * *

She sobs into her pillow that night at another bad idea that only hurt her. Scars are built off of bad ideas too. She could've sworn she remembered that when she crept down his stairs.

Then again, she also could've sworn there was no chain on his door.

She tries to understand. She tries to not break herself all over again. She tries to not remember. She fails. And the tears come streaming down her face at what she will never replace. And her nails scrape away at a layer of pain.

* * *

"'Cause it reminds you of innocence & smells like me / You can't get rid of it, 'cause you remember it all too well."

* * *

"Do you love her?" Dr. Colosso asks him.

"Yeah," he chokes out.

"Then why?" It's a good question.

"I . . . Don't know." He's crying. He doesn't cry. He's a supervillain. He shouldn't cry. But he is.

"Be with her."

* * *

"I'd go back to December, turn around & change my own mind / I go back to December all the time."

* * *

It's another apology a little too late.

It's another set of words pushed away.

It's another bad idea laid to rest.

Or it should be.

But the scars lie too deep & their hearts are too worn.

A note is left for them both & they run away together. Just for the night.

* * *

"We had a beautiful magic love there / What a sad beautiful tragic love affair."

* * *

"You love me, real or not real?"

"Real."

"Good."

"Do you love me?"

"Always."

"One last kiss?"

"I don't want it to be the last."

* * *

"This love is difficult, but it's real."

* * *

Hold back that follow or favorite,

And trade it for a review,

It'll serve as feedback & motivation for my writing tricks,

And otherwise, I might just slap you.

- Queen Alison the Obstinate

* * *

P.S. While REVIEWING, tell me what you'd LIKE TO SEE NEXT.

I've been working on a lot of chapters recently & yesterday was the end of 2nd quarter at my middle school, I really need a break from full on chapters & I'm only just now getting this one-shot & the other one, Wardrobe, published even though I wrote them both weeks ago.

So, TAKE ADVANTAGE of my need for some GOOD, UNRESTRICTED TERRITORY in WRITING.

Anything, Hell, I'm WILLING to do the RESEARCH to write a LEMON right now. WHATEVER IDEA you have for a ONE-SHOT, tell me. I'm OPEN TO IDEAS right now. And anyways, I like a CHALLENGE. Whatever you want, speak up while my mind is recomposing. Now is the time to make SUGGESTIONS.


End file.
